Through a Lens Darkly: Black Photographers and the Emergence of a People

"Through a Lens Darkly" presents fascinating images of Sojourner Truth and Frederick Douglass in abolitionist propaganda portraits, and of black Union soldiers and black Reconstruction legislators, to support the idea that photography allowed black people to represent themselves and counter racist stereotypes. The film's organizing concept is inherently an elitist and limiting one, however, with an increasingly narrow focus on the few who could afford to have the camera record their accomplishments and their prosperity.

The labor of slaves, sharecroppers and then millions of industrial workers made possible the country's development and the black elite's rise. Yet black labor as a huge social force is airbrushed from this director's "emergence of a people." There's no trace of the growing class conflict between owners and workers, black and white, that fueled racist pogromism. There's little representation of overwhelming black poverty, little of black struggle. In the film, lynching is "answered" by black moral outrage but there's hardly any record of anti-lynch journalist Ida Wells. The most basic social realities are ignored and a vaguely nationalist sensibility is imposed on a necessarily incoherent parade of icons, with no hint of what these icons stood for politically.

There are some pictures of nationalist Marcus Garvey, few of accommodationist M.L. King. Photogenic and photography-promoting B.T. Washington gets a bit more time than W.E.B. DuBois, with nothing to indicate that the former promoted black menial training and subservience to white rule while the latter challenged him from the left and fought for black civil rights. Similarly, pictures of Black Panthers and Malcolm X share a segment with the March on the Washington, though they considered it a farce.

Elitism and nationalism are a blindfold. Is it progress that a black filmmaker can be just as self-absorbed and socially clueless as any white director? Maybe. But one might have hoped that a black creative intellectual, as an outsider, would bring a wide-angle lens to bear on our hardly post-racial society.

Rita Freed

Thank you Thomas Allen Harris. I saw your film last night and the theatre was packed with an incredibly diverse crowd of native people, black and white folk, students, educators, an Italian playwright, old couples, interracial couples, lgbt community, elders... people sighing, cringing, crying, sitting on the edge of their seats, eyes transfixed to the screen. This is an extraordinary documentary. Shifting the gravitational field and critical frame of how we see ourselves and our shared history. An excavation of countless unseen images and unacknowledged photographers, a massive archive from the Civil War, Reconstruction and Civil Rights eras...It was so heart-felt. So brave. Raw. Tender. Vulnerable. Relentless. It's challenging to articulate everything I felt while watching this film. But I just want to thank you for opening your journey to us. For creating epiphanies in our eyes, hearts and minds. For weaving together so many lost stories and lives. For your ambition, passion and breathtaking skill. For illuminating the invisible, unseen and unheard.

This documentary is a surprising blend of art history, personal essay, and social critique. You'll learn about many photographers, including some you may not already know. There are interviews with (or remarks about) many artists, including James VanDerZee, the celebrated photographer of the Harlem Renaissance; Gordon Parks, whose great images from Life magazine will be familiar to many; Carrie Mae Weems; Lyle Ashton Harris; Glenn Ligon; and Renee Cox, among others. There are also interviews with historians such as Robin D. G. Kelley. In total, the interviewees offer many insightful remarks about what photography is, and what it can do. Seeing so many unfamiliar and, in most cases, beautiful images, from the time when photography began up to the present, you are sure to be touched and amazed. And the director's personal story will move you, too. This thoughtful film is a treasure, not to be missed!

Do you remember when you first looked closely at a picture of yourself? If you're African American, in particular, did you like what you saw, or was the image staring back at you one that was darkened, and clouded, by what the world had already taught you, or those around you, about blackness?

In award winning filmmaker, Thomas Allen Harris' beautifully rendered documentary, Through a Lens Darkly: Black Photographers and the Emergence of a People, Harris uses his own early questions about beauty and blackness to set the tone for this celebration of the black image and black image makers, even as it reflects on the history, and power, of the denigrated black image and the intentional creation of black caricatures. From the moment the first Africans were brought to American shores, there has been a systematic effort devised to demonize black people. How ironic that centuries later, the same perceptions of blackness as unlawful, lazy, childish, ignorant, hyper-sexual, worthless and ugly still exist in what many would like to think of as a "post-racial" America. Harris takes us on a journey in which we reflect on this legacy of the African American image, and the continued struggle to fashion our own images in a manner that reflects the totality, and reality, of who we are. Harris also encourages us that he/she who controls the image(s) shapes and changes perceptions. The unforgettably beautiful images, then, taken by African American photographers who simply desire to represent truth, and have picked up cameras in order to assert the humanity of their African American subjects, inspire the viewer to do the same. And Harris' Digital Diaspora Family Reunion invites African Americans to "reconsider and revalue" their family photo albums, as the incredible representations of black life, love and beauty that they are.